Moqui Peak and Tabernacle Dome

03/23/26

Things had settled down a bit, the pace had slowed, my freakish desire to reach every peak, knob, bump and protuberance I could find had now since diminished. Back to taking it easy, taking it slow. Back to enjoying the territory one step at a time, to stop and smell the flowers, to feel the soft sand underfoot and sit back, relax, and observe the slow arc of the sun in the sky. 

It had been a few days since I overdid it on St. Paddy's day, my legs were well rested and I was itchin' to get out there in the sticks once again to see the sights and touch some dirt and whatnot. Plus I had these brand new trail runners that I wanted to try out; my beat up Altras weren't exactly cutting it anymore for the ol' feet. Not wanting to overdo it again, I decided to check out some quick and funky peaks, peaks that require a short approach but offer plentiful route-finding, scrambling and the like. There exist two peaks that fit this bill to a T: the rugged Moqui Peak and the gorgeous Tabernacle Dome. Both located in the western reaches of Zion National Park, these peaks not only require short (but funky) scrambles to their summits, but are also practically located right next to each other, making them a great combo for a fantastic day in the wilds. And so, on March 23rd, I set off for the Kolob Terrace road, parking at a random pullout parallel to the northeast face of Moqui Peak. 

I locked the car and then began a short trek through bushes and shrubs to the base of Moqui Peak's northeast face. My goal was to find a way to get to a particular ledge that would take me to where I needed to go. Only issue was that I wasn't 100% sure what ledge to choose. Too low and I'd be beneath the cliffs, too high and I'd get cliffed out. The sweet spot was to be right in the middle, following the correct ledge as it wraps around to the south side of the mountain.

From what I'd read about this peak I knew that the route-finding would be funky as ever, but I had studied the route well enough beforehand (thank goodness) that I was about 70% sure on which ledge to take. I moseyed up to the northeast face, climbed up some loose class 2 stuff and gained what looked to be a great ledge, following it as it wrapped around to the south. Saw some cliffs down below, cliffs up above. Yup. I'd picked the correct ledge. Whoopee! 

Skirting around to the south

I followed the ledge for a bit, noticing traces of a use trail here and there in the sandy dirt. The cliffs to my right eventually became less imposing, opening up at one point in a steep, little chute. This was my entry chute to gain the north side of the peak. From what I'd read I'd have to ascend this chute and squeeze through a "portal" to gain the north side. So I left the ledge and scrambled up into the chute, careful to avoid prickly cacti and loose, crumbly nonsense. 

I stayed to the right, ascending loose class 2 stuff until encountering an interesting class 3/4 obstacle near the top of the chute. Once past that I continued on to a dead end, the fabled "portal" to the north nowhere to be seen. So I traversed over to the left, using a tree for balance, carefully climbing up more class 2/3 stuff until the notable "portal" suddenly appeared in front of me. 

About halfway up the chute. I went right and then traversed left

"The Portal"

Oh yeah. "The Portal." What a feature. I squeezed through the thing, reminding myself that I was actually  hundreds of feet up a mountain and not deep in a slot canyon somewhere in the middle of the nowhere. I left behind the sunny, prickly, loose world of the south and entered the shady, cool, smooth world of the north. Out of the portal, I made a left, immediately noticing these fantastic sandstone alcoves situated above a perilous cliff. Super, super cool stuff; I lingered in one of the alcoves for a minute, soaking in the beautiful views of Tab Dome, the Guardian Angels and the tiny, curvy line of the KTR winding up through the high desert. 

I reluctantly left the alcove and continued on my trek to the summit, making the first available left when I could. I hopped through some brush and yucca until encountering what some had called the crux of the route: a class 4 slab with no exposure. I'll admit the thing was a little tricky to surpass, but then I decided to use the tree right next to it for support and that made things 100% easier. After that, it was pretty cut and dry the rest of the way to the summit, just zig-zaggin' and sloggin' it up loose dirt and rocks until finally reaching the final scramble. 

Class 4 obstacle. Use the tree. It helps.

Moqui Peak summit

Ahh, the final scramble. This was, without a doubt, the definite crux of the route: a steep little climb with a bit of exposure on piss-poor rock. The official route to the summit is an interesting rock climb that requires the use of a rope. Since it was just me, my hands and my shoes, I lingered left, trying to find an easier way up the thing. After some experimentation I finally picked a route, the thing a little sketchy but no harder than class 3.

Once I'd made it past the more crumbly sections of the route I was gifted with a wonderful surprise: a beautiful arch just below the summit. Man, this peak really has it all. You could ditch the summit and just go off and explore all it has to offer; it's like Zion National Park in microcosm. 

My chosen route

An arch just below the summit

I continued along, bypassing the arch and then quickly scrambling up to the airy summit. Couldn't see any signs of recent human visitation, but the plentiful bird droppings indicated that the place is a mighty popular spot for our avian friends. The views, simply put, were fantastic. They were similar to those on Lambs Knoll but much more...exciting. Panoramic views of the Kolob Terrace stretched out all around me, the surrounding desert finally starting to turn a little green. I sat down, wolfed down some calories, and reaped the benefits of my labor. 

Looking towards Lambs Knoll

Tabernacle Dome and such

Southeast

South

Southwest

But as with all summits, one must eventually climb back down, and so, eager to do a little more exploring, I started my way back down the sketchy climb, the going much more difficult on the descent. Slow and steady was the name of the game, and soon I was off the hard stuff and back to sloggin' it down to those beautiful alcoves.

I did a little pokin' and peakin' around on my way over, checking out some of the formations, climbing up to one of the many sub peaks on the mountain. Once I'd satisfied my curiosity I made for the alcoves and posted up shop there for quite a while, figuring this spot to be better than the summit itself. Shaded, secluded and endowed with terrific views, these alcoves are definitely worth the bit of work it takes to reach them, summit be damned. I coulda stayed there all day.

Moqui Peak from one of its sub peaks

But I had a dome to climb and I was starin' at it damn near the whole time I was at the alcoves so I squeezed through the portal and carefully made my way back down the steep, southern chute. Back at the ledge, I followed my footprints to that class 2 stuff I'd surpassed earlier that morning, walking through bushes and sticks and cactus all the way back to the car. I hopped in, chugged some water and then set off just a little ways up the road, parking in another pullout just to the northwest of Tabernacle Dome.

Heading down the chute...

Tabernacle Dome

I followed an old dirt road for a bit, the thing eventually becoming more of a use trail as it curved south towards the dome. Navigation wasn't too difficult; it would appear that this peak gets quite a bit of traffic. The use trail eventually splintered apart, forcing me to choose one of many routes. Didn't really matter which one I picked though 'cause they all end up heading into a dry wash at the base of the dome. I entered the wash, trying to find the correct entry chute to begin the climb. This, in my opinion, was the most difficult part of the whole trek. Once you find the correct chute it's easy going, but in the meantime (especially if you don't have a gpx file or map like I did) expect to engage in a few brief bouts of trial and error.

I eventually found the correct chute, thinking to myself "I suppose that looks like low class 5." In front of me was an angled wall with minimal holds, the exposure nothing to write home about. After surpassing this obstacle relatively quickly I came to the conclusion that it couldn't be worse than class 4, but again, I suppose it's all relative. I followed a well-traveled use trail up into the cliffs, the going straight forward and pleasant.

Looking down the class 4/5 section

Pretty soon I encountered the next obstacle: a class 4 waterfall chute that was actually quite fun to climb. Just hopped up the thing like Spiderman, easy-peasy lemon squeezy. Again, all of this is relative so to some this might be the scariest thing ever. If this is the case I recommend turning around while you still can because brother, you ain't gonna enjoy what comes next. No sirree bob. 

Class 4 waterfall chute

The dome comes into view...

Once past the chute I continued to follow the use trail, Tabernacle Dome eventually making an appearance in the distance. I downclimbed some steep stuff, angling towards the base of the exposed northwest ridge. There are many ways to reach the northwest ridge; my advice it to pick whatever path is easiest. Once at the base I took a quick break, gazing up at the steep, exposed ridge rising directly in front of me. Lucky for me, I had already grown familiar with exposed Zion scrambles and I could tell just from looking at this ridge that it would be pretty simple for one glaring reason: the rock was fantastic! The stuff was grippy, textured, fairly solid and just plain amazing compared to the disgusting white sandstone of which I've grown familiar with over the past month. And so, eager to reach the summit, I tightened my shoes, fastened my pack, and then began the exciting ascent. 

The exposed northwest ridge

A final bit of class 2/3 to the summit

Again, this is all relative. To some, this climb could be the most insane thing they've ever done. A fall from this ridge would definitely be fatal, so it's certainly not a place to mess around and make mistakes. Wiser parties might bring a rope, although some (like myself) could be perfectly content climbing up and down the thing with no aid whatsoever. The ridge itself isn't terribly steep and has good holds, with only one, brief, fairly featureless section proving to be the most difficult part of the whole climb. I have a rule that I'll never climb up something I can't comfortably climb down, and so far, the thing was well within my comfort zone. With patience and care I slowly made my way up, the rock solid, my shoes providing ample traction. Soon I had surpassed the most exposed bit and proceeded on relatively straightforward class 2/3 terrain the rest of the way to the summit. 

What? A register? On a Zion peak? 

There was a register up there, something I was not expecting in the slightest. There were a few booklets inside, some in better shape than others. The last entry was from three days prior. Seems like this peak gets at least one visitor every week, and I could see why, 'cause holy moly, what a view. To the east I received a crystal-clear view of the Guardian Angels; to the west I could see much of the Kolob Terrace and Moqui Peak, looking rugged and crumbly and infinitely enticing. I made my marks, ate a granola bar, and then set off to the south, the views there looking to be utterly fantastic. 

The Guardian Angels

Moqui Peak center

Northwest

South

I posted up on some rocks to the south, the dome dropping off in front of me, the wind zipping through my hair, the view excellent. I sat there for what seemed like a long, long time, doing nothing but soaking in the sun and watching the occasional vehicle trudge its way up the notoriously steep KTR. Off and away in the distance rose a green little nubbin, the humble Crater Hill no doubt. I had had my fill of cinder cone volcanoes, my desire to climb any more at an all time low. But for some reason this one held my interest; couldn't tell you why. After much deliberation, I decided to check it out on the drive back. But in the meantime: more sloth, more relaxation, more sun-soakin' and starin' and gawkin' and gapin'. 

I reluctantly got up, stretched my legs, and then carefully made my way back down the northwest ridge. Oddly enough, the thing was much easier on the descent than on the way up; I simply butt-scooted down the whole thing. 

There was a trail runner guy hangin' out at the bottom of the ridge, his demeanor and melancholic expression expressing a general feeling of defeatedness. I caught up to him and asked him what was up. Said he made it about halfway up the ridge before he got psyched out from the exposure. Said he'd bring a rope next time. I told him that was a smart move. And then we said our goodbyes and he zipped off down the mountain, prancing away like all trail runners do. 

Heading down

The man took a different route than I did on the approach, so I decided to follow him to see if he knew something I didn't. And wouldn't you know it, the guy had found the easiest route off the dome in all of existence. Gotta love them trail runners; they're all about efficiency. All I can say is that I'm definitely gonna take his way on the ascent the next time I climb this peak. Wayyy easier than the way I went. 

Easy as it was, I still had to downclimb that class 4 waterfall chute and the class 4/5 obstacle a bit farther down. These (in my opinion) were pretty straightforward descents; after butt-scooting down that exposed ridge these things were practically a walk in the park. I retraced my steps out of the dry wash and back to the use trail, following it the rest of the way to the car. I hopped in, started 'er up, and then drove on down the road to Crater Hill. 

Crater Hill

I drove up Dalton Wash, parking at the trailhead for the "Whole Guacamole," whatever that is. I proceeded to walk down the dusty road to the park boundary, Crater Hill looming in the distance. The thing looked like a fun little slog that promised some interesting views, so I hastily crossed the park boundary, following a use trail along a fence towards the base of the hill's west slope. 

West Slope

One of two summit cairns

The trail became less and less defined the farther I followed it, but that was alright because it was plain ol' obvious where to go. Open, loose, grassy terrain stretched before me, the route to the summit looking to be a typical cinder cone slog. I left the trail and began the steep ascent of the west face, taking my time and admiring the increasingly scenic views to the west and south. Eventually I topped off on the summit, the views to the north, south and west quite excellent. There were a couple of summit cairns up there; I found the eastern one to be the higher of the two but they're practically at the same elevation. 

North

South

West

I ventured east, dropping a little ways off the summit to gain a better view of the country. My oh man, this was far and away the best one I'd seen all day. 'Twas definitely worth the trek to the summit. Situated to the east was the best view of the West Temple and Mt. Kinesava I've ever seen in my entire life. It was absolutely spectacular; words cannot describe the grandeur, splendor and magnificence of these sublime mountains. I put my pack behind my head, rolled back into the comfy cinders, and stared at this view for a good 45 minutes, watching as the clouds cast ghostly shadows on the impressive cliffs in the distance.

Wow

I woulda stayed until sunset had it not been for my stomach. I had unfortunately ran out of food and the thing was grumblin' and growlin' like a grumpy gremlin, and so, grudgingly, I strapped on my back and boot-skied down the summit. I walked back along the fence, back to the park boundary, back down the road to the car and down through Dalton Wash and beyond. 

The day had gone exactly according to plan, the peaks had been excellent, the mileage minimal and the exploration phenomenal. I'll definitely return to Tab Dome and Crater Hill in the future; not too sure about good ol' Moqui Peak. Though the summit was cool and all I personally found the alcoves on the northeast side of the mountain to be the superior destinations. But who knows. One thing's for sure: I need to get me some dang approach shoes. Them's would sure come in handy, let me tell yah! Trailrunners are great and all but you can't beat the grippy rubber of a good ol' approach shoe. 

I've made do this past week with my new trailrunners, using them for things that are definitely out of their pay grade. The things are plain awesome and so far they've held up surprisingly well on the rugged terrain of the Zion wilderness. But every time I come back from a trek I always wonder how it woulda gone if I had me some approach shoes. Ahh well. Gotta save up some money. Them things sure ain't cheap. 

Hikin' in the Heat on St. Paddy's Day

 

I was sore in the morning. Real sore. Climbing 15 summits in four days had finally caught up to me, my legs weary and worn out. I felt like doin' absolutely nothing, completely content with a day relegated entirely to sloth. But it was St. Paddy's day after all so I had to honor my ancestry by doing at least something. Go to a pub? Wear some green? Find a pot o' gold at the end of a rainbow? Naw. How about the dumbest thing I coulda done: climb more peaks!

Yup. I suppose my brain melted a bit during the unprecedented March heatwave, perhaps serving as an excuse for this boneheaded endeavor. But ever since moving to the area I've felt compelled to explore the territory, as if there was some magnetic force zipping me away from all that is good and decent. I'm drawn to the wilderness like a silly little moth to an electric zapper, and on St. Paddy's day I simply couldn't resist the call.

And so I set off on the road, bound for a couple of lower peaks near the town of Hurricane. I wasn't completely braindead (at least, not yet) as I had decided on climbing what I thought would be "easy" peaks; that is, peaks that demanded a short hike on a maintained trail to their summits. The first of these "easy" peaks was Mollie's Nipple, a noticeable landmark that does, indeed, look like a nipple on top of a big ol' boob. 

Mollie's Nipple

I followed the road to a small parking area, not a car to be seen. Had the whole place to myself; couldn't wonder why, hahaha. Everyone else was probably out on the down drinkin' Guinnesses with the leprechauns, doing everything they could to beat this early morning heat. Determined to reach the nipple, I started up the trail, the thing mean and steep. On the drive over, I caught a glimpse of the route to the summit and boy did it look interesting. Lots of up, super sunny, no shade. Definitely not an "easy" hike per se, but at least it was short. My wobbly legs trudged up the trail like a couple of overworked horses, likely compiling a whole list of complaints and grievances for HR to send to my brain. But soon I had surpassed the steep section, now having entered much more agreeable terrain, the titular nipple finally in sight. 

I moseyed on over to the thing, most of it made up of sharp volcanic rocks. The trail took me all the way to the top of the nipple; a tad steep near the end but nothing too crazy. I plopped down on some rocks and took in the wonderful views of Hurricane and beyond, noting with my finger the other summits I'd planned on visiting later in the day.

South(ish)

West+Northwest Pano

I spent quite a long time up there, considering to make it the only objective of the day. That woulda been the smart thing to do, but then the stupid part of my brain kicked in and told me to climb more peaks and I unfortunately obeyed and grabbed my pack and set off down the trail in great haste. I only stopped once along the way, just long enough to watch a small plane take off from the nearby airport, the thing probably shuttling a bunch of fed up leprechauns tired of Utah's weird drinking laws to Las Vegas where they could guzzle and sup and frolic and prance and rob the casinos blind to their heart's content. 

I finally reached the bottom, hopped back in the car, and drove off down the road to another peak. This next one, East Cinder Knoll, was lookin' to be significantly easier than Mollie's Nipple. I drove straight there, parking along the side of a dirt road. I found the beginning of the trail, hopped over a metal gate thingy, and then began the mellow ascent to the summit.

East Cinder Knoll

The thing was taking almost no time at all to climb, so, to draw things out, I decided to make a loop of the whole knoll, following the trail in a clockwise fashion. I hit up this one spot to the west first, the highpoint marked with an American Flag. Under the flag were solar powered lights, and near the lights, mixed in with some rocks, was a register. This wasn't no regular summit register; wasn't even no geocache. Nope, this was a first: the register proclaimed that it could only be signed by those who have served this country, in both military and civilian positions. Since I didn't fit the criteria I honored the register's request by not signing it, instead putting it back and setting off once again on my clockwise loop, the wind slight, the air nice and toasty. 

"Volcano Mountain" center left

Hurricane

Continuing along, I encountered a large spiral made out of volcanic rocks situated in the middle of the trail. Bypassing this outdoor art installation, I began heading east, beginning a slow walk to the true highpoint of the knoll. Decent views of La Verkin appeared before me, much of the terrain quite similar to that seen from Mollie's Nipple. I reached the highpoint, spun around, said "yep" and kept on going, heading back to the car and driving off to the next couple of summits for the day.

Northwest

La Verkin

I drove no more than two minutes down the road to the next objectives: Middle Cinder Cone and West Cinder Knoll. Could I have hiked from East Cinder? Absolutely. There was a beautifully maintained trail that led from East Cinder all the way to both Middle and West Cinder. But being the lazy dullard that I am, I decided to drive the distance, much to the delight of my overworked legs. 

West Cinder left, Middle Cinder right

I hopped yet another metal gate thingy and began walking on a well-maintained trail, hitting up Middle Cinder first. I followed what appeared to be a popular path to the "summit," which ended up being a ridge of sorts covered in tiny volcanic cinders. To the north of the summit was a small drop-off, and sprawling before me down in a bowl was a whole bunch of rock art. Spirals, circles, and declarations of love galore. There was even a neat little UFO just vibin' there in the cinders, its tractor beam scanning the two-dimensional ground for unsuspecting victims. I took some pictures, dropped down from the summit, skirted the side of the bowl, and met up with the trail once again, following it counter-clockwise to the high point of West Cinder Knoll.

East Cinder from Middle Cinder

More rock art

Purty

West Cinder Knoll

There was a strange structure on the summit of West Cinder Knoll; a large, semi-circular tube made entirely out of volcanic rocks. Nothing inside it, nothing outside of it. Maybe the leprechauns made it. I don't know. By now the temps were hovering in the low 90's and I was running low on water, but I had just enough to make one more peak: the prominent "Volcano Mountain" looming in the distance. I could see it rising off to the southwest; a large, weathered, grass-covered cinder cone that looked to be worth a visit. After Mollie's Nipple, this would probably be the 2nd most strenuous hike of the day, but I was still feelin' peachy so I decided to go for it. I followed the trail the rest of the way back to the car, noises of construction and cars providing a peaceful ambience for this lovely walk through nature. 

Strange structure

Mollie's Nipple

Volcano Mountain far left

I drove through Hurricane and parked along South Panorama Drive, deciding to walk the short uphill section to the gate. Once past the gate I followed the road pretty much the rest of the way to the summit. The closer I got to the mountain the more it looked like a slog. Ahh well. It's a cinder cone. They tend to be like that.

I decided to climb it clockwise, ascending the northeast ridge first. Several mountain bike tracks and a few soda cans full of bullet holes indicated that this spot must be pretty popular spot with the locals. Or maybe it was just those spunky leprechauns again. Who knows.  

Volcano Mountain, I ascended left

Near the summit

I continued along, following the road as it became more and more rutted and steep, turning into something more like a trail near the top. I saw mountain bike tracks pretty much the whole way to the summit; crazy tracks from crazy folks. Near the top, I noticed two protuberances sticking out of the mountain. Looked like tiny little horns. They turned out to be big ol' cairns upon closer inspection, both of which were made out of volcanic rock, neither of them marking the highpoint. One was just off to the west, the other just off to the east. Very strange. 

I took a few pictures, spun around, absorbed the view. I could see much of everything I'd climbed that day, with Mollie's Nipple rising in the southeast and all the rest of the Cinder Knolls visible to the northeast. Hurricane and La Verkin stretched before me, and out west I could make out some of the vestiges of St. George. Blue skies, hot desert, a few lakes, and lots and lots of ridges and bumps and mountains and whatnot. Yep, them views were pretty good. 

Southeast

Southwest

Northwest

East

Once I'd had my fill, I set off down the steep north ridge, slipping once or twice on loose cinders. Back at the bottom, I followed the road the rest of the way to the car, the day coming to a close, my legs just about done. But by this point I was completely braindead; whatever was left in my ol' noggin' had been slow cooked in the desert heat and it was telling me to do stupid, stupid things. And of course I obeyed and I put in directions for Red Reef, another peak that was about 25 minutes away. Unlike the others that I'd climbed, this one required off-trail navigation and some scrambling to reach its summit. Plus I was pretty much out of water by this point so I knew that if I were to climb this peak I'd definitely get dehydrated. And so I was faced with two choices: I could drive home, take a shower, eat some grub, and drink all the water I wanted OR I could intentionally dehydrate myself by climbing another stupid peak. You can probably guess what happened next. 

Red Reef Trailhead, hahahaha

It ended up taking 30 minutes to get to the trailhead, what with the traffic and whatnot. I parked the car, shut the door, and set off down the trail, my mind empty, my legs defeated. There was a group of students situated a little ways down the trail, some frowning, others shading their faces from the sun with their notebooks. All of them wore expressions hinting that they would rather be anywhere else than on that silly ol' trail. Their red-faced professor stood close by, asking them to identify plant species. I didn't hear much of the conversation but it sounded rather unenthused. They needed some moxie. So I walked right through them, parting the group like Moses did the Red Sea, my body oder wafting through the air into unsuspecting noses. Perhaps it woke them up a bit. I never found out. I kept going down the trail and never looked back. One can only hope though, you know?

Heading up a canyon...

I didn't really know how to climb this particular mountain; the beta had long since been stored away in an unknown location in the recesses of my mind. All I knew was that I had to leave the trail at some point by entering the first canyon on the left, follow it to a class 3 exit chute and then climb up to a saddle and skirt the eastern side of the mountain until more agreeable terrain appeared to ascend to the summit. Pretty straightforward stuff. Hopefully I remembered it correctly. 

So I left the trail for the first canyon on the left, following it a ways until I reached an impassable slot. I bypassed the slot by going up a faint use trail to the right, walking up the canyon just a little farther until I reached another impasse. I figured this was where I needed to leave the canyon; all that I needed to do was find that darned class 3 exit chute. And wouldn't you know, I found the thing pretty quickly, spotting it just off to the left beneath a tiny, scraggily tree. A short, fairly unexposed climb later and I was out of the canyon and making my way up to the saddle.

Class 3 obstacle

There were two use trails at the top of the class 3 obstacle; I decided to go left. Didn't really matter because it petered out almost immediately, but hey, that's just the way it goes sometimes. The route to the saddle appeared to be a choose-your-own-adventure sort of deal, so I decided to follow the path of least resistance. Soon enough I had gained the saddle and began skirting the eastern side of the mountain, noticing some old footprints embedded in the dirt. Hallelujah. I was on route!

Skirting the east side...

I followed some semblance of a use trail, weaving in and around boulders and bushes and stuff. Though I wouldn't call this hike a bushwhack, I did somehow manage to rip a hole in the sleeve of my shirt. Ahh, so disappointing. I continued on regardless, staying close to the mountain, never straying too far east. 

Eventually the terrain in front of me became more steep and weird, which I took to be my cue to end the skirt and begin the climb to the summit. To the right was a large, steep, class 2 smattering of hundreds and hundreds of red boulders. I began the climb, not exactly sure if this was the correct point to start ascending. But soon I saw a cairn and then another and my empty mind was finally put at ease. Heck yeah. Still on route!

Climbing up through the boulders

Looking back, the parking lot visible down below

I moved through the boulders like a salamander through a creek, gaining the summit ridge in no time. At long last, my goal was in sight. Didn't look too far, didn't look too hard. I decided to build a small cairn for my return, marking the spot where I finished the ascent through the boulders. This was probably the only smart thing I did all day, and thank goodness I did because it made things so much easier on the way back.

Red Reef

I reached the summit after a few minutes of pleasant ridge walking, rugged desert terrain stretching out before me in all directions. I sat on down, drank the rest of my water, and enjoyed the views. Though they weren't as good as those I'd seen on Volcano Mountain and Mollie's Nipple (totally subjective btw), the interesting route finding and scrambling and beauty of the red rock landscape made this out to be my favorite summit of the day. Plus, like the other summits that day, the route was nice and short; I was only looking at about a 2.5 mile roundtrip hike. Not too bad. But I was definitely a little dehydrated, so, not wanting to overstay my welcome, I reluctantly said my goodbyes and set off down the mountain, my tongue craving the sweet taste of sugar and electrolytes. 

South

Southwest

North

East

I walked down the scenic ridge, noticed my cairn and then began the fun descent through the boulders. For whatever reason, it was significantly easier going down this section than it was on the ascent. I reached the bottom, dusted off my shorts and then moseyed back along the eastern side of the mountain, following my footprints to the saddle.

At some point along this scenic walk I began philosophizing to the rocks and the sticks and the bushes about the different levels of dehydration that one can experience in the outdoors. I, for instance, was currently "comfortably dehydrated," which is a state of parchedness that one can endure rather contentedly for a long time. Next up is "uncomfortably dehydrated," which I explained has three levels of discomfort: annoying, bothersome, and bad. After that, there's only one more state that one can find oneself in, and that is to be critically dehydrated. Nobody wants to be this dehydrated. Man, I get thirsty just thinkin' about this level of dehydration. And of course I probably sounded like a complete wackaloon explaining this to the foliage around me; the bushes and shrubs and cactus simply wishing for me to shut up and move on. But it helped to pass the time so I kept on talking and philosophizing all the way back to the saddle and down past the class 3 obstacle and into the canyon. 

Heading back down

Confounded Mylar Balloons! 

I shut up once I got back to the trail. The students were long gone, the sun had fallen behind the mountains, everything was in the shade, the heat of the day slowly evaporating into the ether. I waddled back to the car and drove straight to the grocery store, picking up frozen peas (for dinner) and gatorade (to quench my immediate thirst). It occurred to me that I coulda stopped at the store on my way over to Red Reef, but that woulda been too easy, hahaha. 

It had been a rather hot St. Paddy's day, rife with terrific elevation gain, pointy plants, dust and dirt and a whole lotta rocks. No Guinness, no four leaf clovers, no gold, no sprightly leprechauns, no disgusting green milk. But it was a good one nonetheless; in fact, it was probably the best St. Paddy's day I've ever experienced. But it came at a cost, my excesses in the woods finally catching up to me. The next day at work my left shin cried out in pain whenever I went up or down the stairs. Seems like the thing finally had enough and went on strike. Oh well. It was inevitable. 

Since then I've rested and recovered and have gone out on a few more adventures, all of which I plan to document on this blog. I'm definitely behind on the posts at the moment, but I'll get to them eventually.